


The Admiral

by Meddow



Series: The Admiral [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-18
Updated: 2006-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meddow/pseuds/Meddow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A commissioned officer is not a common sight on Tortuga, so the mysterious drunk wearing a tatty uniform causes a stir. Especially with the crowd at <i>The Jolly Cripple</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Admiral

**Author's Note:**

> This is fic number one of the Admiral series. Thanks very much to the wonderful le_parapluie for betaing.

There was a place for every possible kind of lowlife on Tortuga. The docks were filled with pirates and smugglers longing to restore their rum supplies and release pent up lust from long weeks at sea. The bars and whorehouses filled with drunkards and fallen women, those who never left Tortuga, the vast majority resigned to their fate. There were opium dens and gambling halls for the addicts, and for those who no longer felt like this life was for them, a never-ending supply of missionaries and makeshift churches hoping to save a few souls from eternal damnation.

All the dregs of the Caribbean ended up on Tortuga -- the last free port in the area --and with their numbers anyone claiming to represent the law of any nation knew well enough to keep away. So to see a British officer taking up residence in the brothels and bars like all the others certainly stirred a bit of controversy and gossip around the long-time residents.

Soon after he had arrived on a merchant ship bound for Liverpool; one that had left without him; he had been dubbed "The Admiral" by the locals to reflect his now scruffy but nevertheless impressive uniform. While many sailors that had been kicked out or had resigned from His Majesty's Royal Navy found their way into the streets of Tortuga, a commissioned officer was a rare sight indeed. It was soon established by the curious wrenches who wondered if a blue coat meant deep pockets that the Admiral meant no trouble for Tortuga's residents. He was only looking for one man, and while he waited for him he was just another drunken sailor like all the rest of their clientele. And though his uniform did seem to make the men sitting around him uncomfortable, the general rule of Tortuga applied: there was to be no killing of a man with money or face the wrath of the publicans and the whores.

The Admiral talked to only a few and never told anyone his real name, causing rumours to fly through the taverns. Some thought he was a lieutenant or a captain kicked out of the Navy for being a drunk; afraid to return home in shame. Others suggested that he was a pirate gone a bit funny from all the sun, sea, and salt and had killed an officer, stolen his uniform, and decided to act the part. A few others suggested that it was the elusive and now missing Commodore Norrington, the once infamous and now disgraced pirate hunter. Though nobody could verify this since back in the Commodore's glory days if any of their lot ever laid eyes on the Commodore, it mean imprisonment or the gallows for them, therefore it was generally accepted that the man looked like an unholy cross between a pig and a dog, which the Admiral certainly did not.

Shelly decided it was most likely that the man sitting at the table in _The Jolly Cripple_ with a bottle or rum was merely an officer and not a pirate or Norrington. From his few demands for more rum, she had determined he spoke far too well to be a pirate and from the stories that had once circulated about the Commodore, she figured that Norrington would rather be burning in hell for an eternity than spending his time in the company of pirates, drunks, and whores like herself.

Still, she was curious, and when she saw John Radley walk into _The Jolly Cripple_ she decided that being seen in the arms of the mysterious sailor was a good way to avoid having to deal with John.

She pulled up her skirt and plopped into the Admiral's lap, wrapping her arm around his neck and making sure he felt her breasts against his chest. "Would yeh like some time with me tonight, love?" she asked pertly, flashing her eyebrows and giving him a big grin.

There was no change to his dour expression, and he took another swig of his bottle of rum. "I no longer see a reason why I should not," he replied with his perfect annunciation, despite being inebriated.

"Right then," Shelly replied, hopping off his lap and grabbing him by the wrist. "Follow me, love."

She led the drunken and partly stumbling man up the stairs. "So they call yeh the Admiral," she said, while scanning the downstairs to see where John had got to and being silently relieved to see him at the bar, seemingly not having noticed her.

"I was never an Admiral," he replied.

"Right, that's ridiculous for someone yeh age, isn't it?" she commented, imagining that Admirals and Commodores were generally older. He made no response.

"So what were yeh then? A lieutenant? A captain?" she asked, hoping that while she had him she could find out something nobody else knew and have some fresh gossip to spread around the port.

"That," he replied coolly, "is none of anyone's in this damned port's business."

Shelly remained quiet for the rest of the trip to her room. There was no real point to talking, it was hard to be heard over the sounds of moans and screams coming from behind the closed doors they passed. Finally reaching her room and closing the door behind her she decided to pick up the conversation once more. "They say yeh're huntin' fer Captain Jack Sparrow."

"That man is no Captain," he muttered, sitting on the bed. He took another swig of his bottle of rum. "Ranks are earned."

"Like yeh earned yers, love?" she asked.

He made a very slight movement of his head that Shelly took to mean "yes" and took another swig of rum. Realising that if left to his own devices the Admiral would be happy to sit there alone all night drinking, meaning Shelly would not earn her keep, she started pulling off his blue coat, hoping he would follow her lead.

"Yeh seem ter love yeh rum more than yer women," Shelly commented as he took yet another mouthful. Like every patron at The Jolly Cripple, the Admiral reeked of alcohol and sweat, although he did seem just a little cleaner than her normal clients.

"I never drink and I never play games with a woman's virtue," he replied as she managed to swing his coat off him.

"All evidence ter the contrary, love," she replied as she moved on to undoing his belt, noticing a loaded pistol and an old sword.

"I never used to," he muttered.

"So what happened to yeh then? A woman break yer heart? Kill a man in rage? Get caught helpin' the smugglers?" she asked. "Wait, it were Captain Jack Sparrow, weren't it?"

The Admiral looked away from her and took another drink of rum. Succeeding with the belt, she sat on his legs and pulled open his shirt, revealing his chest.

"It is the old story of a man making one mistake and losing everything," he replied, leaning back until he was now lying on the bed as she caressed his chest. Discerning that he was indeed aroused, Shelly began to untie the back of her dress, removing the bodice and revealing the corset, only to find her one-man audience now passed out drunk on the bed.

Rolling her eyes, Shelly pulled her dress back up and quickly tied it into place. Noticing the Admiral's purse on the floor where she had left her belt, she took her keep. She had, after all, given him some pleasures of the carnal nature before the rum took its effect.

Silently stepping out of the room, Shelly suddenly felt a rough hand latch onto her arm. John Radley pushed her into the corridor wall with all his might, causing Shelly to cry out in pain.

"Stealin' from him like yeh stole from me, Shelly?" he whispered, grabbing her other hand and pressing her into the wall with his body.

"I never stole from yeh, John," she shrieked, desperately hoping someone would appear from the other rooms and help her, that her voice would carry through the closed doors and over the screams that filled the other rooms.

"Yeh stole me heart an' then yeh left me," he replied, his mouth only an inch from her eyes and his noxious, rum-tainted breath surrounding her.

"I'm sorry, John. But I was only doin' me business," she pleaded.

John released her left arm and with his free hand whacked her across the face. She screamed again as fell to the floor from the force, her face alight with pain. Shelly hoped that God looked out for lowly whores as she realised this was certainly to be her end: killed or injured in a way so that no man would want to pay for her anymore. She closed her eyes, covered her head with her arms, and waited for another blow to come.

But then she heard a scream coming from another person and the sound of someone hitting the wall.

Shelly moved her arms to see a few fellow whores and clients staring at the Admiral, his blade drawn, steady and pointed at John who cowered on the floor.

"My name may not mean much to you people anymore, but while I still have a blade in my hand you will do as I say," he said calmly.

Shelly pulled herself up from the floor, her face aching and heart still pounding in her chest from the shock. John was nodding desperately at the man, a sabre pointed at his throat.

"You will leave this woman alone. You will leave this establishment, and if I find out that you came near this woman again or bother any other woman here I will hunt you down like the dog you are and hang you right here from the rafters," the Admiral declared slowly.

"Yes, sir," John whispered.

The Admiral took a step back. "Now get up and leave," he said.

John scrambled to his feet and ran down the corridors. The small crowd of onlookers consisting of partially dressed whores and clients stood staring at the Admiral.

Shelly decided to break the silence. "Thank you, love," she said, racing up to him and putting her arms around him. The Admiral staggered on his feet as she did so, reminding Shelly that while he had managed to fool John, he was still very drunk. She stood back and let him be.

"You are to tell me if that man ever shows his face here again," he said.

"Of course," Shelly replied, recovering some of her calm. "I suppose yeh will be wantin' a free turn now."

He shook his head. "There are no excuses for hitting a lady," the Admiral said, leaning against the wall and looking quite pained.

Shelly let out a laugh; it had been quite some time since she had heard that word in reference to her. "I'm no lady."

The Admiral made a small nod. "You are no more a lady than I am an officer."

"I have no issue with any of you," the Admiral announced to the crowd of onlookers still milling around, obviously wondering what he would do next. "Unless you plan to hurt a woman like that man was, you may go back to your business."

"That was very decent of you Admiral," Kathy, one of Shelly's more dressed friends, commented as she headed back into a room. The Admiral made no reply.

The crowd began to disperse back into the rooms.

"I believe I owe you some money," the Admiral said.

"This one's on the house," Shelly replied, remembering the money she had already lifted from the man's purse.

"I insist," he muttered.

"Fine, half price," she replied as the Admiral fished some change out of his purse. The Admiral gave over the money and began to stumble down the corridor.

"Wait!" Shelly called out. "Don't I get me hero's name?"

"That is inconsequential," he called back as he turned the corner down to the stairs.

Kathy appeared from her room and stood next to Shelly. "Odd one that," she commented. "Find out anything about him?"

"Just that he really was an officer," Shelly replied.

Shelly knew there was a place on Tortuga for all the dregs of society; she belonged in _The Jolly Cripple_, servicing sailors, smugglers, and pirates who every so often turned out to be rat bastards like John Radley. The Admiral, she realised, did not belong on Tortuga. Not yet anyway. Not while he still held onto something of his sense of honour. He should be at his ship, with a polished uniform, loyal men at his command, and a noble goal in sight.

Though Shelly could not complain at the hand fate had dealt the Admiral. The man had saved her a beating tonight and still insisted on paying her. The noble drunkard the Royal Navy had lost was surely to be the whores of Tortuga's gain.


End file.
